


And every road I walked would take me down to the sea

by DreamingPagan



Series: Evermore Lighter [1]
Category: Black Sails
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Era, F/M, Gen, I solemnly swear this is not a zombie Charles fic, Temporary Amnesia, canon compliant at the same time, everyone is worried about Billy, kind of dark Billy, prequel to Evermore Lighter, wherein Charles is alive but the hanging did not do him any favors
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-30
Updated: 2019-09-30
Packaged: 2020-11-08 02:36:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20827994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DreamingPagan/pseuds/DreamingPagan
Summary: Charles Vane is dead - right?Maybe not. Or at least, that's the hope that Charles is hanging onto for the time being.





	And every road I walked would take me down to the sea

“How long do you think it will be before someone notices the body in that gibbet isn’t the right one?”

The words are uttered lowly, and Billy Bones closes his eyes. He runs a hand over his face.

“Has he woken up yet?” Billy asks.

Ben shakes his head, and Bones opens his eyes, and gives him an inquiring look.

Billy, Ben Gunn thinks, is a cooler character than he’d first taken the bo’sun for. They are standing in the hallway of the house Flint had shown them, and discussing treachery aimed at the man himself, while that man’s ally lies unconscious in the nearby bedroom - and Billy does not appear shaken, or in any way fearful. Just tired - and perhaps a bit worried for Captain Vane himself. 

“No,” Ben tells Bones. “He’s still abed.”

“He still talking in his sleep?” Bones asks, and Ben nods.

“Aye.”

“Then we’re going to continue to hope that Miss Guthrie and Max won’t notice and we’ll keep helping people find reasons not to look too closely.”

Ben steps closer. 

“The nose is wrong, and the hair is too light. Eventually some bright spark or other is going to realize it’s not Vane,” he tells Billy. Billy nods.

“And by the time that happens, with any luck, the Captain will have woken up and taken the reins of this enterprise away from Flint. We can’t continue on this way, Ben. We mustn’t.”

Billy looks exhausted, Ben thinks somberly. He _ sounds _exhausted. He needs rest, as much as any of them. 

As much as does Captain Vane, currently lying in one of the only two decent beds in the house, 

There’s a muffled cry from within the room. Ben steps closer still, and grasps Billy’s arm. 

“Bill - I know how you feel, but the men - they’re not going to want to hear that,” he says quietly.

It’s a struggle and a half not to step away when Billy’s eyes harden, and he swallows hard. He doesn’t know what to think anymore - hasn’t known, not in a long time, but he’s seen Captain Flint, and he’s seen Billy’s resentment toward the man growing, and - 

And he’s seen the way that Captain Vane looks at Captain Flint, and he wonders, too, if Billy’s seen that as well or is just trying to wish it away.

“They’re allies,” he says, desperately. “He won’t turn on Flint - he can’t, not now.”

_ You can’t do this and live_, he means, but he doesn’t say it, not even when Billy wrenches his arm out of Ben’s grasp and goes stalking down the hallway. 

Charles Vane wakes three days later. He does not know his own name. The silence in the room is deafening. Billy stares at the table, and Jacob drinks, and Ben tries - tries so hard - not to flinch. He can’t do that, not here - not now.

“Ben,” Billy orders after half an hour’s worth of deafening silence, “see to him.” 

“See to him?” Ben asks, and Billy gestures.

“Get him up and moving, then get him off this island. We still don’t need anybody recognizing his face. Can’t let them know we’re here, and with his mind in the state it’s in, there’s no telling if he remembers which end of the sword is the pointy bit.” 

There’s a bleak sort of humor in his voice - one that makes Ben actually wince. 

“He could still remember,” he says softly. “He’s got a stubborn streak the size of Ireland, and it’s early days yet -”

Billy stands up. He has one hand grasping the back of his chair, his knuckles white, and he has not yet pounded the table with the other, but he looks as though he is on the brink of it. 

“Nassau needs a leader, and she needs one _ now, _ ” he growls. “We can’t afford to wait until he recovers. We can’t _ sit here _ and tell him tales about his own life, we haven’t got the _ time!” _He pounds the table, and Ben steps back -

Only to be caught mid-step by Jacob. The older man gives him a warning look, and then steps past him. 

“You’re still the leader of the rebellion here,” Jacob points out. “The men follow you. Could you not put yourself forward?” 

Billy laughs, and there is nothing of humor in it. 

“Half the men on this island remember when I was 16 and still falling over every time I turned around too quickly,” he says. “If they think well of me at all, it’s because I was Gates’ right hand. No. We need him. Just - not like this.” 

He sits down, and runs a hand over his hair, and then blows out a breath. 

“I’ve no idea where to go from here,” he confesses. “If I can’t sway Vane to our cause by saving his life - if he isn’t _ Vane_, then -”

“Could we not convince him of who he is? Have him play the part?” Ben asks. “After all - he’s still Charles Vane, he’s just-”

He stops. Jacob’s hand on his shoulder tightens, and Billy stands up again and -

“Ah,” Ben says, breathless with fear suddenly. “Right. Sorry.”

Billy does not speak for another moment. He continues to stare at Ben instead, and Ben backs away. He backs away very slowly, until he has reached Jacob, who lays a hand on his arm.

“Charles Vane is no puppet to be danced on a string, whether he remembers or not,” he says quietly, and the tension seems to go from Billy all at once. 

“Just… get him away from here,” he says, slumping down. “Get him on a ship. I don’t care how you do it.”

“Won’t - won’t he be recognized?” Ben asks, voice quiet and small, and Billy shakes his head.

“No,” he says. “Charles Vane is dead. Get him out of here.” 

Ben does not protest again.

**Three Weeks Later:**

The funeral takes place in the dead of night, after the sun has gone down on the chaos of the day’s fighting. Nassau has been reclaimed.

Charles is dead, and digging up his body has left them all sweat-soaked and tired and above all sick at heart. It has been three weeks. Three weeks since the execution. Three goddamn _ weeks. _

Teach looks as if he is made of stone, and for once Jack understands the feeling. This cannot be real. It can’t. 

It is.

“It isn’t right,” Jack says into the darkness. “It isn’t fitting to his name. It isn’t right, or fair, or -”

“It is what Charles would have wanted,” Teach says, and that is the end of that. The small boat that carries Charles’ body scrapes over the sand. The men - Teach’s crew, _ Charles’ _crew - stand in a semi-circle and bow their heads - and then one of them comes forward, carrying a torch. Teach takes it. He bends at the waist - reaches out to light the fire -

“Wait!” Jack snaps, and wades forward into the surf. He shouts the second time. “Wait, damn it all -”

The torch descends. Boat and body float out to sea, carried on the tide. Jack does not hesitate - he jumps into the surf, splashes, swims -

In later weeks, Anne will tell him he was mistaken. Max will reassure him - 

“I saw him die with my own eyes. I heard him speak. He is dead, Jack - dead and gone-”

They are all wrong, and Jack will not hear otherwise.

He knows Charles. 

“Death does not confer tattoos,” he will insist. _I'm sorry,_ he says to James Flint as they take him to Savannah. _I'm sorry, I have to know - they won't help me unless - unless- _

He does not know, months later, and he sits in the tavern, and drinks, and tells stories and Ben Gunn, sitting in the same tavern, gets up and leaves before his presence can be noted.

“They can have Charles fucking Vane when I’ve got Jacob back,” he mutters under his breath.* “Bastards, all of them. Bastards.”

Jacob is dead, and Charles Vane is not, and the world is not fair.

*He is wrong. He is in a tavern and taverns have ears and this one - this one has many, many ears indeed.

**Author's Note:**

> This story is part of the LLF Comment Project, which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates feedback, including:
> 
> Short comments  
Long comments  
Questions  
“<3” as extra kudos  
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If you don’t want a reply, for any reason, feel free to sign your comment with “whisper” and I will appreciate it but not respond!


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